


nous sommes des hommes, pas des dieux.

by pricingham



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fantasizing, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricingham/pseuds/pricingham
Summary: Gaston goes to a brothel with the usual company to relieve some stress he believes comes from the battle. Later, he realizes that's not the source of said stress at all and goes back to the camp to meet with the only person he knows will make him feel better. LeFou.





	nous sommes des hommes, pas des dieux.

**Author's Note:**

> this was Originally going to be a chapter in my War Fic (it's titled "War Times - chapter 16 Or Is It....idk" on docs) but! it got too long! and explicit! so! have fun I guess!!! gaston is a repressed fuck!  
> anyway je ne suis pas a native english speaker so like. lmk if this is messy I usually write this shit at the wee hours of the morning like its abt to be 5 am now god  
> the title means we're men, not gods thanks duolingo for making me change tht shitty title into a cheesy one

Gaston sighs heavily, eyes fixed on the top of the tent. The battle had been bad. Not specifically terrible but not great either. They had lost about four men and Gaston has already had a few visitors yelling at him about how terrible he is for letting them die even though Gaston has no control over who lives and who dies. He isn’t God, after all. Not in that sense of the word, anyway.

He lets out a short breath and his gaze moves down to LeFou who’s scribbling something on a sheet of paper, incredibly focused on his little task.

“I thought you couldn’t write,” he comments, trying to strike up conversation with him.

LeFou glances at Gaston and stammers, cheeks turning red. He gives him a nervous smile accompanied by an equally nervous laugh. “I, I can’t. I just sometimes…” He shrugs. “Scribble things. It’s fun. And sometimes I think they sort of... make letters.”

Gaston raises his eyebrows and gets up, curious. “May I?”

“Huh? Oh! Yes, yeah, sure,” he says, stumbling on his words and lifting the sheet up for Gaston to see.

“I never thought of you as an artist,” Gaston confesses, admiring the smooth lines. He squints, sure of himself LeFou was trying to write his name. He takes in a breath; his heart seemingly growing in fondness.

“Oh, I’m not really… An artist or whatever,” LeFou shrugs off with a laugh.

“What letters do you think those make?,” Gaston asks, teasing, giving him back the paper.

“Well, I don’t… Know, really. I can’t read.”

“Hm.” Gaston nods before letting out another sigh. “I’m going to head down to the village with the usual men,” he announces, as he puts on his jacket. “Are you coming?”

LeFou scoffs, looking from the scribbled over sheet to his captain. “To do what? Get drunk and go to a brothel after?,” he asks, rather rhetorically, as he folds the paper.

Gaston laughs. “I thought those kind of nights were good for every man.”

“Well, Gaston, my Captain,” LeFou mocks, “I’m not every man.”

“Of course not,” he agrees, walking towards him, still smiling. He puts a hand to LeFou’s shoulder, strong and steady. “You’re my aide!”

“Oh, Gosh,” LeFou mutters under his breath, glancing at Gaston’s hand and then looking up at Gaston. “Yeah, I am,” he says, voice nearly a whimper. He flutters his eyes close as Gaston moves his hand absentmindedly to his cheek.

Gaston watches with blown pupils as LeFou’s cheeks turn crimson, as he turns his head slowly to Gaston’s hand and brushes his lips against it. Gaston takes in a breath, withdraws his hand swiftly, and blinks away the brain fog.

He clears his throat and walks back to the desk, his heart hammering in his chest; he can feel his heartbeat in his temples. He now notices how he has broken into a light sweat, something he blames entirely on frustration — and not at all the sexual kind.

Gaston takes in a breath as he buttons up the cuffs on his jacket. He puckers his lips, frowning. “Are you certain you don’t want to come?,” he asks again, turning to LeFou.

He looks up at him and eyes Gaston up and down, slowly tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. The tension is there. Both men notice it. Neither speak of it. So they simply stare at each other with ragged, slow, deep breathing. Gaston looks away, breaking eye contact. His breeches are starting to feel uncomfortably tight, something he yet again blames on stress.

“Yes,” LeFou finally speaks. “I’ll stay here. I have to count some things, and your desk definitely needs cleaning.”

“You can do that tomorrow,” Gaston says with a shrug. “It will be fun, you won’t regret it.”

“I’m not very much a fan of brothels, really,” LeFou excuses with a false smile.

Gaston doesn’t speak for a while, studying his friend instead. He looks… jealous, almost. Definitely bitter. He lets out a breath. “Very well, if you insist, my friend,” he finally gives in, giving LeFou a big, charming Gaston smile.

 

The tavern was loud and the brothel is even more so. Gaston has two women by his side, one on each side, their hands roaming every inch of his upper body, sometimes dwelling lower to brush their fingers against Gaston’s crotch. His shirt is already spread open due to their hands, and his chest rises and falls ever so slowly.

He takes the pipe from Tom’s hand and inhales. The smoke leaves his lungs through his nose in two gentle grey stripes.

“Gaston, are you alright?,” Tom asks, frowning at his friend’s tense, serious face; he’s usually either relaxed or stupidly playful with the girls by his side.

“Yes,” he sighs, smoke following. “I’m just… Thinking about LeFou. He seemed very stressed today,” he continues, before inhaling again.

Dick snorts a laugh. “He just needs a night with a lovely lady,” he jokes. The other three men laugh loudly. “I’m being serious! Have you _seen_ him?”

“I think what he wants,” Stanley says, wrapping a hand around the woman next to him and pulling her close, “is a night with Captain Gaston himself.” He points at Gaston with the tip of his pipe.

Gaston laughs. “What about LeFou makes you say that?”

Stanley shrugs. Tom and Dick exchange looks of confusion. “The way he looks at you mainly.”

Gaston scoffs and hands Tom his pipe back. “You’re drunk, Stanley, my friend.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” he says, slurred. “But LeFou is definitely interested in you, a-Captain.”

Gaston shakes his head with a sneer. “Moving on.” He eyes each women by his side. “I can only take one of you with me to my room… Who, should, it be?,” he says slowly, eyeing them up and down. He hums as he moves his hand up the right woman’s thigh, moving her skirt up with it. “What’s your name, my dear?”

She giggles, throwing an arm over Gaston’s collarbone. “Julie,” she says, her voice soft, a purr into Gaston’s ear.

“ _Julie_ ,” he repeats, rolling it off his tongue. “I like it.” He turns to the left woman and presses his mouth to her neck. “And what is yours?,” he whispers against it.

She smirks and looks at him, slender fingers tracing his lips. “Ophélie,” she breathes close against him.

“Very… elegant,” he comments with a sharp grin. He likes her but he likes women submissive and gentle better so; he deeply enjoys being in control in every scenario possible. “However, I think you’d have a better time with my friend Dick over there.”

“You’re such a good friend,” Dick says with a laugh.

“I have been nothing but generous to you and them,” Gaston replies, looking over at him.

Ophélie isn’t exactly pleased — Gaston can see it in her face, a quick hint of annoyance that flashed over her dark brown eyes. Gaston immediately thinks of LeFou’s. Gentle and big and kind. He frowns, feeling sick to the stomach.

“Captain?,” Julie asks.

He clears his throat and sits up. Then he turns to her and gives her a charming grin. “Let us go upstairs, yes?”

The concern in her face nearly melts away and is replaced with a swooning expression. (Which, again, reminds him of LeFou whenever Gaston did anything.)

 

The room is dimly lit by candles and moonlight that creeps into it through the two open windows. They don’t kiss. He never kisses the women he goes to bed with on the lips. He feels like he should save that for someone he _actually_ cared about, not women he’d fuck one night and leave as soon as they fell asleep. She giggles at him in that attractive, sweet way women giggle when flirtatious. Gaston loves every second of it.

He twists the doorknob, closing the door and leant against it as Julie undoes his shirt completely and opens it wide. “Shall we move to the bed, Captain?”

Gaston puts a hand to her cheek and shakes his head lightly. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he speaks, soft and gentle, making her flutter her eyes and sigh.

“You truly have a way with women,” she praises with a small smile.

Gaston leans down, leading her with his hand to her knees, blonde strands tangled between his fingers. He closes his eyes and rests the back of his head against the hard wooden door, letting a breath as Julie swiftly undoes his breeches.

He lets his mind wander, something he immediately regrets as LeFou comes to mind. But this isn’t the LeFou he usually finds himself thinking about. He isn’t smiling softly, looking at him in awe. No, this LeFou is bent over a table — Gaston’s desk, in fact — moaning shamelessly as someone pulls at his curls. Said someone leans in to bite at LeFou's shoulder and Gaston’s eyes fly open when he sees that unknown person is actually himself.

Drawing a shape intake of breath, he pulls Julie up to her feet with care. He shushes her when she opens her mouth, buttoning up his breeches. “I’ll pay for the whole hour, I’m sorry to stop so abruptly,” Gaston says, hand to her cheek. “I’m not feeling very well because of the alcohol,” he lies.

She nods. “It’ll be 35 francs, sir.”

Gaston nods. “I have the money downstairs with my jacket, do you mind if you walk with me there?”

She shakes her head and follows him to the coathanger in the entrance of the brothel where he hands her the money.

“Gaston?,” Tom calls from the couch he had sat on. “You’re done so early.”

“I’m leaving,” he tells him. “I feel weirdly sick.”

“...A’ight. Have fun!”

Gaston lets out a laugh, shaking his head, as he puts on his jacket.

 

He finds LeFou rubbing his eyes as he looks over papers on Gaston’s now tidy desk, one single candle dimly lighting the tent. He jumps when he notices Gaston watching him. “Jesus!” LeFou laughs, scratching his cheek absentmindedly. “You startled me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Gaston replies with a soft smile. He puts his jacket on top of the bed and takes a deep breath. “LeFou,” he calls, as he looks over at him and stalks forward. LeFou sits up immediately, looking up at Gaston with glazed eyes.

“Yes?,” he breaths, blinking fast.

“You seemed tired,” Gaston comments, looking at the pile of papers full of scribbles and slashes. He picks up the sheet LeFou was scribbling on before the scare and glances over it, understanding next to nothing. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Since you left,” LeFou replies with a shrug.

“Christ, that’s what? An hour?”

“Maybe…? I haven’t checked the time,” he says, putting away the quill dripping with black ink.

“You deserve to rest, my friend,” Gaston says, giving the paper back to him.

LeFou puts it on top of the small pile. He looks up to Gaston with a smile. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me to rest?”

“Sort of, I suppose. ...We have to be honest with ourselves, LeFou,” he says before taking in a sharp, deep breath. “There’s been some tension between us for a few days, weeks perhaps.”

“And you want me to relieve it?”

Gaston wets his lips. He grabs LeFou’s wrist with care and pulls him up. He looks down at him, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, never breaking eye contact. Gaston kisses the back of hand then his cheek, and finally his neck. They stand like that, dangerously close, Gaston’s mouth to LeFou’s neck, taking in the scent of blood and sweat and what seemed to be pomegranate oil, something LeFou runs through his hair to mask the previous smells.

LeFou’s hands rest on Gaston’s sides, head thrown back as he tries his best to breathe normally. Gaston can feel his heartbeat, fast and steady, against his lips. He takes in a breath and presses his hips to LeFou’s, drawing a whine from him. And yet another one, followed by a soft gasp, when he bits into the skin.

“I need you,” Gaston breathes into his ear. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you at the brothel.”

“...Are you serious?”

“Very.” He withdraws to look LeFou in the eye. His hand moves from the desk slowly to LeFou’s face. Gaston leans in slowly, eyes closing, heart racing, and stops as soon as their lips touch. He can feel LeFou’s breathing on his mouth. “May I?”

LeFou doesn’t exactly reply, more lets out a whimper and nods furiously before closing the nearly nonexistent space and kissing him as hard as he musters, hands pulling desperately at his waistcoat. “Gaston,” he gasps, as Gaston moves to bite and lick at his jaw. “Gaston,” and this time it’s slightly more firm, a moan rather than a gasp.

He growls. “Kneel.”

LeFou falls to his knees the moment those words hit his ears. He looks up at Gaston, lips parted, eyes wide and pupils blown, as he moves his hands slowly down to Gaston’s legs. Gaston puts his hand to LeFou’s hair, massaging before wrapping the curls around his fingers and pulling. His breathing is erratic and deep. He lets go of LeFou’s hair and moves his fingers to lips, pressing his index and middle finger past them. LeFou’s eyes flutter close — he’s obviously overwhelmed — and he laps at them, moaning gently once Gaston forces them deeper, almost hitting the back of his throat. There's an unconscious, Gaston assumes so at least, snap of hips from LeFou, who now stares at Gaston with nothing but pure devotion in his eyes as he sucks and laps at those fingers.

Gaston barely moves, letting LeFou do whatever he wants. He’s hard in his breeches, and it’s pressing uncomfortably against his fly; LeFou notices it, he’s smiling softly around Gaston’s fingers, and pulls off. Gaston’s hand falls limply to his side. “You are…” He moves his hand to the bulge in front of him and looks up at Gaston. “So gorgeous.” Gaston swallows thickly, teeth clenched, and looks down at LeFou, now breathing through his mouth, nearly gasping. “So big,” he whispers, and brushes his fingers against it, teasing. A smile, almost devilish, tugs at the corner of his lips. “You’re so hard, my Captain. Is this all because of me?”

Gaston doesn’t speak. His head feels far too light for such. “LeFou.”

“Captain,” he calls him. Gaston _loves_ it. “Please? I’ll do a good job at it,” he says, breathing against Gaston’s crotch, making him groan in return. Gaston puts his hand to LeFou’s hair. “Please, sir,” he asks again, now jerking Gaston off through the fabric, slow and light. He grins up at Gaston when he feels his cock twitch. And Gaston moans. His free hand is clawing at his table and he _moans_ , a hoarse sound that forms at the centre of his chest and leaves his mouth between sharp intakes of breath. LeFou moans too, close to Gaston’s erection, as he realizes he’s never _heard_ Gaston moan let alone _see_ him do it. “Fuck, please.” LeFou’s no longer teasing and Gaston smirks. He looks down, face hot and sweaty, and nods. LeFou blinks and closes his eyes, rests his forehead against Gaston’s gut.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Right,” LeFou breathes. He looks up at Gaston again and puts his hands to the fly of his breeches. He’s halfway through undoing it, the string wrapped around his index fingers, when he stops suddenly. Gaston frowns, a muscle between his eyebrows twitching a little. “Did you fuck her?,” he hears LeFou ask, trying his best to sound firm. Gaston can feel the jealousy in his friend’s words.

“What do you mean?,” he asks with a smirk, hand still in LeFou’s hair.

“You _know_ what I mean,” LeFou says and he sounds fairly sure of himself. Still, he elaborates. “You said you couldn’t stop thinking about me at the, at the brothel.” His eyes are fixed on the trail of coarse, dark hair that leads to Gaston’s cock. “You _were_ with someone, correct?”

“...Yes.”

“Did you fuck her?,” he asks again, finally looking up at Gaston, stealing his breath. He looks absolutely stunning, cheeks flushed an attractive shade of red, small drops of sweat forming and dripping down his forehead, lips parted, eyes darkened and full of anticipation.

“No,” Gaston finally says. LeFou smiles, and Gaston stifles a chuckle. It turns into a choked moan once he feels LeFou’s fingers on him again, stroking him slowly, his mouth on Gaston’s gut, kissing, breathing hotly against it. “Are you teasing me?”

“...Perhaps. Why, Captain? Don’t you like it?”

And before Gaston can actually form a coherent reply and say it, LeFou’s lips found their way to the head and he’s kissing and licking, and Gaston is holding back moans. It’s when LeFou actually takes it in his mouth that Gaston closes his eyes, breathing fast through his nose, his jaw clenched. “Fuck,” he whispers, LeFou’s tongue pressed against the underside of his cock. He can feel everything: the wet, warm feeling of LeFou’s mouth, his hands at his hips, rubbing circles on top of his hipbones, the slide of his tongue on his cock from tip to base and back to tip. Then he hears it. LeFou gagging, choking. And it’s simply the most _incredible_ fucking sound Gaston has ever heard; his mouth falls open in a hoarse moan and he smirks. He feels LeFou pull back and hears him cough. “I thought you wanted it all, LeFou.”

“Fuck… I do, Gast-Gaston,” he says, short of breath.

“Sorry?”

“...Captain.”

“That’s better.”

LeFou glances at him, bottom lip between his teeth, pupils blown, eyes half closed.

“Christ, I want to fuck you so hard,” Gaston says before he can stop himself. LeFou’s reaction — a whimper, pathetic and undignified, and his mouth dropping open — makes it so regret isn’t even an option.

“You do…?,” he breathes and practically forces himself to shut his mouth.

Gaston nods, eyes heavy-lidded and darkened with lust. The smirk hasn’t left his lips. “Slam you down on a bed. Hold you down as I get you open fast so I can fuck your ass nice and rough.” LeFou gasps, blinking repeatedly in shock. “I bet you haven’t had cock in months.”

He moans loudly and shakes his head. “I keep… Fuck, Gaston… I keep thinking of having yours,” he says against its soft, damp skin.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” He goes back to sucking and lapping and whining and moaning. And choking. Oh, the choking is like music to Gaston’s ears, some kind of silent praise. He thinks about what he just told LeFou, about fucking him senseless against some bed. LeFou’s too good at making him feel absolutely amazing to pretend he doesn’t want it. He does, he _craves_ it in fact. He craves knowing how LeFou sounds when he comes, how he looks. And that — imagining LeFou whining and gasping and trembling underneath him — and LeFou gagging yet again is what does it.

He lets out a choked “ah” and immediately bites his lip after, hard enough to draw blood, as he holds LeFou's head down and thrusts, trying to get the most of his orgasm as possible. When he's done Gaston sighs, and it's deep and somewhat emotional. He wets his lips and withdraws his hand, allowing LeFou to pull back and finally breathe.

He takes in a breath and ties his breeches’ fly, then kneels down so he's face to face with LeFou, who's breathing deeply and incredibly out of it. “Did I do well?,” he whispers, opening his eyes to meet Gaston’s gaze.

Gaston smiles, something soft, and moves his thumb to catch a bit of cum that escaped LeFou's mouth and presses it against his lips, past them too. LeFou sucks and sighs once Gaston withdraws. “Yes,” Gaston finally replies.

LeFou smiles. He’s a wreck, hair stuck to his cheeks in sweat, face pinkened from the blush that goes from his forehead down to his chin, lips swollen and slightly bruised from the kissing before. Gaston, of course, isn't better himself; his hair is disheveled beyond belief, ribbon at the end of it, and it's falling onto his shoulders and in front of his face, which is still red from the post-orgasmic blush that begins on his neck and ends by his eyes, dribbling down in his chin is a thin stripe of blood that smears once he and LeFou lock lips once more. It's a tired kiss, soft too.

He never kisses the people he goes to bed with on the lips. Unless they're LeFou, that is, with words as gentle as his touches and as soft as his lips. Gaston is too tired to stop the tears that fall while they kiss, too tired to make himself deny how much he needs and loves this man. LeFou doesn't mention it when they break the kiss, he's crying too after all. But Gaston kisses him again, just in case. Just in case he _will_ comment on it. Just in case he forgets how LeFou tastes and feels.

**Author's Note:**

> in the spanish (spain) version of gaston, instead of "too much?" lefou asks him "did i do well?" so yeah that's where That comes from because.....alright.....(he also calls him an animal after I Shoot From Behind)


End file.
